Pour L'automne
by metacognitive
Summary: And for winter, and for spring... Longing through the seasons. Charlie, Fleur, and Gabrielle.
1. automne

_Summary: and for winter, and for spring..._  
_Character(s): Charlie Weasley, Gabrielle Delacour, Fleur Delacour_  
_Genre: Romance, Tragedy_  
_Note: First fic of 2011. Woot :)_

* * *

_Pour L'automne_

_"He is outside of everything, and alien everywhere. He is an_  
_aesthetic solitary. His beautiful, light imagination is the wing that_  
_on the autumn evening just brushes the dusky window."_  
_~~Henry James_

* * *

|_automne_|

* * *

There is something about her. Something far from tame, something _wild _that immediately catches his attention. He could care less about her looks, about her walk and hair; no, he focuses on her voice, on the brazen edges its sultry tones take as its own.

Her sister is smitten with him in that – _(how do you say it?) –_ _divin_ kind of way, worshiping his very being, hanging onto every word that passes his lips. And yet _she_ pushes him towards her sprite of a sister, all silver hair and long limbs even at only eight years old.

"Somezing great comes."

* * *

She's tiny. The only thing he can ever describe her as is 'leaf', a little figue on the tip of his tongue as she runs around him as he tries to do his job.

He's not even supposed to be there, not yet, it's much too early. But he needs them prepared – he needs everything to be perfect.

Those dragons are his life, and he refuses to let them be destroyed on his watch.

"Go along," he finally tells her one, "this isn't a place for children." But she puffs out her chest, tells him, "Monsieur, do not mock me."

* * *

But her sister is a completely different story. She's more golden, more of an_ ange_ than anything remotely normal.

And that's saying something.

She is sneers and scoffs when her sister comes to her, brimming with his tales of what they believe is happiness when the most _she_ has ever known is to be desired and adored.

(Never loved though.)

"Zere ees nusing to be 'ad weez zat man, Gabrielle," she says, and he thinks only of her accent and the sound of her voice in the dead of the night, "you know zere ees so much more someplace else."

* * *

Finally, after she has relaxed enough after the dragons to confront him, she seeks him out.

"Just _what_," she demands, hair floating around her like an auréole, her tone exasperated, "are you do-eeng weez Gabrielle?"

For a moment he allows her pronunciation of Gabrielle to ring in his ears—the roll of her tongue, the flow of her 'l's—all, he realizes with muted horror, beautiful.

"Nothing," he answers her, confused by both her and her question. "She's just curious about the dragons."

Raising one well-shaped eye-brow, Fleur says, voice finalizing, "Do not try anyseeng zat weel take 'er away."

* * *

She'd be perfect for Bill, he notes surly as he sips his firewhiskey, occasionally looking up to see if there are any familiar faces in the tavern. Despite all odds, he is alone, and he sighs in annoyance before settling down to enjoy his drink in silence.

"Monsieur!" comes the shrill voice he is now accustomed to, and he nearly falls as Gabrielle hurtles into him.

"Gabrielle? How'd you—what're you doing in here?"

"Eet ees Fleur!" she cries, and at once he is on his feet.

"What, what?"

"We must 'elp 'er weez ze egg!"

He slumps; of course.

* * *

It is all for her; when the young fille smiles, it's because of what Fleur said to her once. When she laughs, it's recalling a joke she had told. She is the light in her little sister's eyes, and Charlie can't help but feel a bit sickened by it all.

"Ees zat not somezing common 'ere?" she asks him after finally noticing his many winces.

"No, it's just not…_us_, I suppose."

Her eyes are large and hazel-pale—he sees very little resemblance to Fleur, excluding the hair.

"Oh…but Monsieur, as long as you love zem, eet does not matter."

* * *

_A/N: Love it? Hate it? Questions, comments, concerns, or insults? Press the review button and lay it on me._


	2. hiver

_Summary: and for winter, and for spring..._  
_Character(s): Charlie Weasley, Gabrielle Delacour, Fleur Delacour_  
_Genre: Romance, Tragedy_  
_Note: I know, super later but enjoy. If there are any questions about my French (which is all from a translator, je suis désolé(?)), just ask :) I have basic translations, though I doubt they're entirely correct._

* * *

_Pour L'automne_

_Winter must be cold for_  
_those with no warm memories._  
_~~An Affair to Remember_

* * *

_|hiver|_

* * *

"Has she figured it all out?"

"Ah?" she looks up, silver strands falling into her eyes as she notices him standing there. She smiles at him, before shooting back a question of her own, "Are you goeeng to ze Ball?"

"…I was actually supposed to be in Romania…oh, three weeks ago? Something like that. So, no; but I heard the Hufflepuff, Cedric, has figured it all out. Used to play quidditch against the bugger, actually."

She shrugs; "I do not know."

Waiting a moment, he rubs at the back of his neck. "And Fleur?"

Smirking, she says, "Ask 'er yourself."

* * *

It's dark out when he leaves. He's just finished shrinking his luggage, about to fly, when he feels a warm body slam into him from behind.

Instantly recognizing the small hands as his little amie, he manages to turn himself around to properly lift her. She lets out a small chuckle, though she buries her head in his shoulder anyway.

"Promeese me you weel write," she mumbles thickly, and he nods his head, opening his mouth to reply when it drops.

Fleur stands, giving him a scathing glare.

"I promise," he finally chokes out. "And I never break a promise."

* * *

For months, he is in the mountains. There is snow—_so_ much; he never thought he'd hate the fluffy mass—and so little warmth. He even starts to look forward to getting a little burnt, the fading heat at least a little enjoyable.

But then her letters come. He studies them, sees the little scratched out places, nearly _hears_ her accent as he reads. It's new, but the snow is fun. Some Irish boy challenged her to a snowball—that's what they're called, right?—fight, and she won.

Oh, and Fleur broke up with the Hogwarts sot. How is he?

* * *

This is why he doesn't like Floo-ing. Much too painful on the knees, he notes, but shifts as he settles down uncomfortably anyway. Within seconds he sees silver-blonde hair, following the squeal of his favorite (or so he'd like to believe) quarter-veela.

Within seconds she has thrown herself to the floor, sourire fresh and simply _beaming_, and Charlie finds himself wondering (not for the first time) just how important this friendship is to the young French girl.

"I 'ave meesed you," she tells him, eyes sincere. He tries not to wince.

"So've I," he tells her.

Honest…but not quite.

* * *

The next time he sees her is after the second task. When he appears, he is met with both of the Delacour sisters. Fleur has her arms wrapped tightly around Gabrielle; as if afraid she might disappear at any moment.

"'ello, Charlie," Gabrielle starts, _sh_ rolling off her tongue easily, however her sister interrupts.

"Your brozzer," and here she pauses, looking at the younger girl and pulling her closer, "'as saved my seester's life."

He blinks. "That's…great?"

"Non. But eef I must…I would like to say zat you…and your familee…are all lovely people."

He grins. "Thanks."

* * *

"I've asked. They don't have enough people around to take care of them, so I've got to stay."

A huff, long hair tucked behind her ears; "Eet weel not be ze same wizzout you, Charlie."

Smiling, though he's still wishing to reach out and ruffle that silver strand—she's much to perfect for a girl of eight years. "Same here."

Cracked smiles, and her eyes water, nervous: "When do you seenk I weel see you again?"

He puffs a sigh; "We'll see how it goes, I suppose."

"J'espère non…" she mutters, disappearing in a haze of light, crying, "Goodbye, Charlie!"

* * *

_A/N: Love it? Hate it? Questions, comments, concerns, or insults? Press the review button and lay it on me._


	3. printemps

Summary: and for winter, and for spring...  
Character(s): Charlie Weasley, Gabrielle Delacour, Fleur Delacour  
Genre: Romance, Tragedy  
Note: I'm a bit sketchy on the details for Order of the Phoenix, so I hope this doesn't clash too much with it. If there are any glaring errors, do tell.

* * *

_Pour L'autumne_

_Autumn arrives early in the morning,  
but spring at the close of a winter day.  
~~Elizabeth Bowen_

* * *

_|printemps|_

* * *

He is dead.

The words echo in his head and he shakes it, wills himself that it is a lie, that no innocents have been lost but then—

Harry hadn't been naive for awhile (though he knows he tells the truth).

He knows that what needs to be done must be done, and turns around and asks for more time off, he already busy readying the dragons for a few months of sub-adequate attention from the few thrill-seekers remaining.

By the time he's got the letter sent to his mother, however, he's already penning another to a certain French beauty.

* * *

They meet again sometime during his journey home, he bedraggled and ready to snap at the next person who bumps him the wrong way. He nearly does when he first feels the pressure behind him, already opening his mouth when he recognizes the tiny palms pressed against his back.

"Charlie," she gasps, and he takes her tiny figure up in his arms.

"Where are your parents?" he asks, and she motions somewhere away from them.

"I saw vous," she says, and he takes it.

"Be safe," he says by way of answer, before disappearing to her saddened gaze once more.

* * *

Things settle down in a way he can't stand, all anger and accusations, nothing being solved or saved.

But Tonks is back in the picture, and he enjoys himself when teasing her about her apparent interest in a certain older werewolf male.

"Don't be _ridicule_," she snaps at him, and the smile falls of his face.

"I—what?" he says, blushing furiously, and she smirks back.

"Your infatuation with pretty French girls hasn't gone unnoticed, Wease," she states, and he remembers how to close his mouth.

"There's only one."

"And which is that?"

He doesn't even know what that _means_.

* * *

But all of that changes when Bill comes back from Egypt, takes a job up at Gringots.

He doesn't think much of it, not when he mentions dating a girl he's been tutoring, nor when he decides she's the one. Not until later, when he finds out just which witch captured his brother's heart.

She shows no sign of outward recognition when introduced, but that night, as he made his way to bed, she brushed against him and smiled.

"Gabrielle steel speaks of you," she says, rougeoyant eyes bright and burning.

"Of course," he says, voice hollow, "how is she?"

* * *

You are a good brother, he tells himself, when he accepts duties as best man. Bill's smile is worth it, he decides, he's your brother and he deserves to be happy.

(But, another side of him whispers, don't you deserve that too?

Or is this pain meant to be yours?)

"Magnifique!" Fleur responds, and she absolutely beams, "Gabrielle weel be a bridesmaid too, and Geeny as well."

"Oh, Gabrielle," he says as an afterthought, too absorbed in the splintering of his heart, and completely miss the knowing look between Bill and his bride. He slinks away with no second thought.

* * *

The wedding is flawless, though he never quite watches the newlyweds. It hurts— but not as much before.

Of course, he's spoken too soon, and chaos is unleashed with news of the late Prime Minister.

As he struggles to find some semblance of normalcy, he ends up with Gabrielle in his arms, describing her family's impending escape to the Canary Islands.

"I weel be back, Charlie, when eet ees over," she says, and he clutches her to him.

"Please, be safe," he whispers against her temple, lips brushing a kiss against her forehead before he lets go, "_s'il te plaît_."

* * *

a/n: I honestly have no idea where I was headed with this so I'm just marking it as complete, considering Gabrielle's fate is canonically unknown. Hope you enjoyed :)


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